When “Out of Sight” Doesn’t Mean “Out of Heart”

When “Out of Sight” Doesn’t Mean “Out of Heart”

An AuDHD perspective on time, attention, and friendship

I have learned that I experience friendship a little differently from many people around me. Not in how deeply I care, but in how that care shows up.

As an AuDHD person, my relationship with time, attention, and communication is highly intentional. I do not drift in and out of connection through constant messaging, spontaneous calls, or quick check ins. I actively avoid phone calls and I really dislike them. This is a common experience for many neurodivergent people and for me it is about regulation, processing speed, and emotional safety.

Unplanned or phone based communication can feel intrusive, overwhelming, and oddly disembodied. I do not have visual cues, I cannot regulate my energy in the same way, and I am expected to respond in real time without preparation. Instead, even in long distance friendships, I often schedule Zoom calls. That might sound formal to some people, but for me it is how genuine connection becomes possible.

The same applies in everyday life. I frequently leave my mobile phone in another room. Not because I do not care about people, but because I do. Having my phone nearby pulls my attention into constant low level alertness. When it is out of reach, my nervous system settles. I can focus, feel grounded, and be fully present with whatever or whoever is in front of me.

Time is my most precious commodity. Because of that, when I schedule time with someone, whether that is a walk, a coffee, or a Zoom call, it is a conscious investment. It is my way of saying you matter enough for me to create protected space. When I am with someone, they have my undivided attention. No multitasking. No scrolling. No partial presence.

This is also where misunderstandings can creep in.

Many neurodivergent people experience what is often described as “out of sight, out of mind”. If I am not actively interacting with someone, my brain does not keep them emotionally foregrounded. That does not mean the bond weakens. It simply goes quiet until it is reactivated. When we reconnect, the relationship feels continuous to me, as if no time has passed.

This experience is sometimes casually referred to as object permanence, although that is not a perfect clinical fit. More accurately, it sits within differences in executive functioning, working memory, and attention regulation, which are common in autistic and AuDHD nervous systems. Some researchers describe this through the idea of monotropic attention, where focus is deep and immersive rather than spread thinly across many people or demands at once. The language matters less to me than the reality. Connection does not disappear simply because it is not constantly in view.

One friend once said to me, as a genuine compliment, “It does not matter how long we do not see each other. The connection is unchanged.” That landed deeply. This friend is very self assured and grounded in their own sense of security. They do not measure closeness by frequency or immediacy, so my way of relating feels safe to them.

But not everyone experiences friendship in this way.

For people who are less self assured, or where the friendship is new or still un navigated, long gaps in communication can feel unsettling. Silence may be interpreted as withdrawal. Delayed replies can trigger doubt or insecurity. While I may feel calmly connected in the background, someone else may be experiencing distance or loss.

Neither experience is wrong. They are simply different nervous systems making meaning in different ways.

In an always on culture, constant availability is often mistaken for care. Phone calls, quick replies, and regular touchpoints are seen as proof of closeness. Yet for many AuDHD people, this level of immediacy can be dysregulating. What looks like avoidance from the outside is often self preservation on the inside.

My internal experience of loyalty and depth is not always visible. I may not text often. I may not enjoy phone calls at all. I may need to schedule connection rather than stumble into it. But the friendships I hold are steady and enduring. They do not fade simply because they are not constantly activated.

Over time, I have learned that translation matters. Sometimes that means naming my needs and intentions explicitly.

If I go quiet, it is not because I care less. It is because I focus deeply on what is in front of me. When we spend time together, you have my full attention.

I have also learned that friendship works best when there is room for different attachment styles. Self assured friends often feel comforted by the depth and continuity I bring when we reconnect. Others may need more frequent reassurance and sometimes that means finding gentle, sustainable bridges that honour both people.

A final note on meaning

When I say yes to meeting for coffee, I mean it. It is not a social filler or a polite way of closing a conversation. It means I have mentally allocated time, energy, and intention. For me, saying yes is a commitment.

Over time, I have learned that this is not always how it is heard. In neurotypical social culture, “let’s meet for coffee” can sometimes be an off the cuff remark. It may be warm, friendly, and genuinely well intentioned, but it does not always carry an expectation of follow through. I used to experience this as confusing or disappointing until I understood that we were using the same words to mean different things.

This difference matters. When my yes is met with silence, it can feel as though my intention has landed in empty space. Not because I expect immediacy, but because commitment, for me, is never casual.

So if I say yes to meeting, please know that I am not being polite. I am being sincere. And if you say it back, I now understand that it may be an expression of goodwill rather than a plan. Neither is wrong. They are simply different languages of connection.

What I know now is this. Depth of friendship is not always measured by frequency, immediacy, or constant contact. Sometimes it is measured by presence, intention, and the quiet certainty that when you meet again, nothing essential has shifted.

My way of relating may challenge common expectations. It may look unconventional in a world that values instant access and perpetual availability. But underneath it is a steady truth. When I choose to spend time with someone, in person or on a scheduled screen, it is never casual. It is deliberate, wholehearted, and deeply felt, even during the long stretches in between.